


Aww magnemite, no

by msxylda



Series: Barnes's Beginnings [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Archery, Bucky ate the cookies, Bucky is smooth, Clint is less so, Cookie kisses, Darcy made cookies, Fade to Black, M/M, implied sex, mentions of wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8037142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msxylda/pseuds/msxylda
Summary: Clint has a rough day, so he decides to reward himself with the super mature past time of Pokemon Go only to have his rough day come back and bite him in the ass.Not literally.Well maybe literally after the fade to black...





	Aww magnemite, no

The one thing that Clint Barton hated more than anything in the world, it was the feeling of being watched. More than paperwork. More than running out of coffee. More than track suit draculas. More than… Okay, not more than Loki.

Because of Loki, though, so it counted. Sort of. Mostly.

Clint lowered the bow he’d been using for the past hour and shook his head, trying to clear it of the freezing blue that was trying to creep in. Always trying to creep in. It had been three years since the Battle of the New York, and that blue was still right there trying to find its way in. That was why he still spent hours at a time in the Tower’s range. Focusing on the draw, pull, and release of his bow to counteract the chill.

All that had changed six months ago, though, when Steve brought home The Winter Soldier like a lost dog he’d found huddled on his stoop. Sure, Clint had done the same with Natasha all those years ago, but this was different. For starters, Natasha had been a programed Russian assassin while The Winter Soldier was… a brain-washed and reprogrammed Russian assassin. See? Totally different. And Natasha had been Clint’s mission while The Winter Soldier was Steve’s childhood best friend. Worlds apart.

And Clint had to stop ruining his own arguments in his own head. Especially since that tendency predated Loki.

He drew another arrow, took aim, and released hitting the middle of the target. A stationary one this time, because that feeling of being watched was itching right between his shoulder blades and dammit he didn’t feel like putting on a show today. Not for The Winter Soldier. 

And that’s who it was, watching him. He knew without scanning the room to find the grey eyes that would be peering out at him from a shadow. That’s who it always was. All day. Every day. Whenever he came down to the range, within moments he’d start to itch and there The Winter Soldier would be. He’d tried confronting the assassin, but all he got in responses were … confusing statements. 

At first, it had been strange grunts that sounded vaguely approving. Then slightly complimentary words mixed in here and there amongst the grunts. After a while it had turned into whole sentences where he- The Winter Solider- granted grudging praise on his archery skills. And finally … finally …

Well if Clinton Francis Barton didn’t know any better, he’d think the formerly brain washed and reprogrammed Russian assassin extraordinaire was flirting with him. 

Which made zero sense, he understood that, but there was no other explanation for the way his eyes lingered on his eyes, lips, hips and ass. His biceps he understood, those were part of a well-oiled machine honed for destruction. His hips though … His hips … 

And there was the fact that he found reasons to touch Clint. All the time. He wouldn’t even let Steve touch him, forget the medics and specialists who wanted to get a look at him and his arm. And the one time Tony tried …

The coffee that was lost that day still weighed heavy on Clint’s heart.

But he was always getting all up in Clint’s personal space. And saying things. Oh the things that he was saying. Weird references he didn’t understand but quick google searches led him to believe were thinly veiled chat up lines from the 1940s. Just the day before he’d said something about –

“Hey Barton,” the deep voice came from the shadows, thick with Brooklyn even in those two words. Clint flinched, sending his arrow off target causing it to barely graze the last one he’d shot instead of splitting it down the middle. He turned as the shadows snorted. “Smooth.”

“Is there some reason you’re here, Solider-Boy?” Clint replied through clenched teeth. Sure, any other person might have been thrilled with that shot, but then any other person wasn’t Hawkeye. And any other person wasn’t being watched by the Winter Mother-Fucking Soldier.

“I like the view,” the darkness replied as a glint of white showed that the shadowed soldier was smiling. 

“Can’t say the same,” he muttered under his breath. Not that it mattered, the smile- and the man attached to it- moved forward as if prompted by his words. Freaking super soldier hearing. Still, it was a nice view, watching the man come closer. He moved with a predatory grace he’d honed over years as first a dance hall regular, then a WWII sniper, and finally a well-trained assassin. The movements so fluid they were practically liquid; it was as sensual as it was dangerous.

Clint assumed he’d stop when he got to the edge of the range- since Clint was armed and there were safety protocols- but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t, who needed safety protocols? He assumed he would stop just outside of lunging distance, because again- armed, but he didn’t. So he assumed he would stop when he got within arm’s reach, but still the brunet came closer.

 _Damn it Barton,_ he thought, _stop making an ass out of you and me._

Finally, Barnes was standing right there. Right there. Practically on top of Clint until he had to tilt his head back slightly to look him in the eyes. Not that he was. His eyes got distracted on their way and ended up stuck on his lips.

Those lips. 

They were always so shocking to him, those lips. After all, Barnes was all cold, pale skin (from seventy years of cryo? He’d have to ask Stark) and dark hair and those shockingly blue eyes. But those lips…

Soft, plump, and obscenely red. The perfect little cupid’s bow. And wasn’t that just one of life’s great freaking ironies?

That bow was strung tight in a smirk as the taller man watched Clint and whatever he found there caused them to twitch slightly. It was all Clint could do not to try and release the tension of that drawn bow by—

Bucky licked his lips. Slowly, the edge of his perfectly pink tongue tracing that delicate bow.

Clint’s brain melted.

“That better?” It was deeper than normal and full of some kind of dark promise.

Clint had done many stupid things in his life, but what he did then would probably go down as the most moronic thing possible.

He ran.

* * *

Hours later, after a long shower in which he tossed one off at the wrist, banged his head against the wall, and then fingered, stretched and stroked himself to completion once more he felt…

Well he still felt like a fucking dumbass. 

Now, Bucky probably thought he was an idiot. Or a child. Or an idiot child. If he was just trying to get a rise out of Clint- which he had to assume because he was sort of a train wreck shooting ability aside- he’d given him the perfect way. Just lick your lips and you’ll cause Barton to blush, he could practically hear the other man crowing.

Worse, what if he’d been serious in his attentions and Clint had just scared him off? Either because he was an aforementioned child or because now Bucky knew that Clint was not able to handle a one-off or…

No, no… Clint wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t going to act like some moronic teenager with their first crush. He was going to get his mind off things. 

So he loaded up Pokemon Go.

Hey, lots of adults played Pokemon Go. Even—

“Oh, a magnemite!” Clint squealed before barreling out of his apartment.

* * *

He finally tracked down the magnemite in the kitchen. Of course, the fucker was a willy little cockbag, and after wasting a good solid dozen of his pokeballs the bastard finally deigned to be caught. The ball twitched once. The ball twitched twice. Clint held his breath. The ball twi—

The ball opened and the magnemite scampered off.

“Aww magenemite, no,” he groused as he threw his head back.

“Something wrong, Barton,” the bane of his existence asked, causing Clint to jump straight out of his skin. Once he was back, and dared to glance towards the sound he swallowed his tongue.

Barnes was there. Right there. Watching him. Probably had been the whole time, based on the way he was casually munching his way through a plate of cookies. Worse, he was shirtless. 

Well, there was a shirt, but it was slung over his left shoulder blocking the majority of the scaring from where the metal arm was embedded in his flesh. Didn’t count.

Shouldn’t count.

Also, Barnes should both always wear shirts- for his mental state- and never wear shirts- for his penial state- again. 

“Barton?” He asked again, this time setting the cookie, the one he’d been eating, down on the plate and stepping away from the counter.

 _If I eat that cookie,_ Clint mused, _it would be like giving Barnes a cookie kiss._

But plans for half eaten cookies were set aside as Clint came to the shocking realization that Bucky was about to invade his personal space again. He did the only thing he could do, given the situation. He dropped his phone.

With a lecherous grin, Barnes came to a halt right in front of him. Smirk still in place, he did a complicated little hip roll straight out of Clint’s wet dreams and sank into a squat. After retrieving the evil phone, thankfully with a locked screen and no longer showing Pokemon Go, Barnes looked back up Clint’s body. Slowly. Maddeningly slowly. And with such weight behind it Clint felt it like a caress.

He shivered.

He swallowed.

Barnes rose from his crouch.

He died.

Not literally, of course, he wasn’t that lucky. But all the blood did rush from his brain to southern locations. Inconveniently before Barnes was able to traverse his equator. So Barnes got an eyeful of his bulge, and judging by the twinkle in his eyes that had been exactly his intent.

The evil, smug, brain washed, no good—

“That for me?” Barnes asked when he finally- _finally > made it back to his full height. _

Clint tried to play it off. Gave as much of a shrug as he could while his shoulders were already hunched and offered a strained, “is—squark...”

Barnes hot hand came to rest on his groin. No asking, no teasing, no by your leave. Just one flesh and blood hand grabbing- and squeezing- his family jewels while the metal hand wrapped itself firmly around his hip.

“Because, I’ve got to say, I’ve been trying to get that for quite some time.” His nose was now tracing Clint’s jaw while both hands squeezed in maddening patterns of varied pressure and frequency. “I’d tried everything I could think of…” he purred before licking the shell of his ear. 

Unfortunate, since his brain was currently leaking out of that ear.

After several starts and stops, a few swallows, three coughs, and one absolutely wrecked moan, Clint finally managed to reply. “Could’ve just asked.”

Because fuck if he was stopping that hand now…

“I just did,” Barnes retorted before cutting off all further conversation with a harsh, punishing, claiming kiss. One that tasted like cookies and sin.

* * *

Bucky was having a phenomenal day.

First he teased Clint until the younger/older man scuttled away. 

Then he shot until his arms felt like they were going to fall off. He was getting to be almost passable with the bow, and he couldn’t wait to show off for Clint.

He took a shower in which he was able to achieve an utterly satisfying orgasm that Steve overheard and lectured him about. Again.

He made Darcy abandon her cookies when he kept making lewd comments about Barton’s ass.

He caught a magnemite.

And finally, he’d caught a Hawkeye. One that had stayed in his bed with minimal fuss.

A good mother-fucking day.

No, wait… A good Clint-fucking day.


End file.
